Roots_ The Saga of an American Family - Alex Haley [365]
Nearly everyone black in Henning attended his funeral, dozens of them his children, grandchildren, or great-grandchildren. Standing there by the grave as he was lowered into the ground beside Matilda, his son L’il George leaned to Virgil and whispered: “Pappy so tough ’speck he wouldn’t o’ never died natural.”
Virgil turned and looked sadly at his brother. “I loved ’im,” he said quietly. “You too, an’ all us.”
“’Cose we did,” said L’il George. “Nobody couldn’t stan’ livin’ wid de cockadoodlin’ ol’ rascal, an’ look now at ever’body snufflin’’cause he gone!”
CHAPTER 116
“Mama!” Cynthia breathlessly exclaimed to Irene, “Will Palmer done axed to walk me home from church nex’ Sunday!”
“He ain’t ’zackly one to rush into things, is he? Leas’ two years I seen ’im watchin’ you in church every Sunday—” said Irene.
“Who?” Tom asked.
“Will Palmer! Is it awright for him to walk her home?”
After a while Tom Murray said drily, “I think ’bout it.”
Cynthia went off looking as if she had been stabbed, leaving Irene studying her husband’s face. “Tom, ain’t nobody good ’nough fo’ yo’ gals? Anybody in town know dat young Will jes’ ’bout run de lumber company fo’ dat ol’ stay-drunk Mr. James. Folks all over Henning seen ’im unload de lumber off de freight cars hisself, sell it an’ deliver it hisself, den write out de bills, colleck de money, an’’posit it in de bank hisself. Even do different l’il carpenterin’ de customers needs an’ ax nothin’ fo’ it. An’ wid all dat fo’ whatever l’il he make, he don’t never speak a hard word ’gainst ol’ Mr. James.”
“De way I sees it, doin’ his job an’ mindin’ his own business,” said Tom Murray. “I sees ’im in church, too, half de gals in dere battin’ dey eyes at ’im.”
“’Cose dey is!” said Irene, “’cause he de bes’ catch in Henning. But he ain’t never yet ax to walk none home.”
“How ’bout dat Lula Carter he gave dem flowers to?”
Astonished that Tom even knew, Irene said, “Dat more’n a year ago, Tom, an’ if you knows so much, reckon you also know she carried on like sich a fool after dat, fawnin’ roun’ ’im like a shadow, he finally quit talkin’ to her at all!”
“He done it once, he could do it agin.”
“Not to Cynthia, he ain’t, not much sense as she got, ’long wid bein’ pretty an’ well raised. She done tol’ me much as she like Will, she ain’t never let on to ’im how she feel! Mos’ she ever say is howdy an smile back when he do. Don’t care how many gals buzzin’ after ’im, you see who he buzzin’ after!”
“See you got everythin’ worked out,” said Tom.
Irene pleaded, “Aw, Tom, let ’im walk de child home. Leas’ let’em git togedder. Dey stays togedder’s up to dem.”
“An’ me!” Tom said sternly. He did not want to seem too easy to any of his daughters, his wife either. Above all, he did not want Irene aware that before now he had seen the potential, had weighed it, and thoroughly approved of Will Palmer if the time came. Having watched young Will since he had come to Henning, Tom privately had often wished that either of his two sons showed half of young Will’s gumption. In fact, the deviously serious, ambitious, highly capable Will Palmer reminded Tom of a younger himself.
No one had expected that the courtship would develop so fast. Ten months later, in the “company room” of Tom and Irene’s new four-room house, Will proposed to Cynthia, who barely could restrain her “Yes!” until he had finished speaking. The third Sunday from then, they were married in the New Hope CME Church in a ceremony attended by well over two hundred people, about half of whom had come from North Carolina on the wagon train, and their children—and who now lived on farms scattered throughout Lauderdale County.
Will with his own hands and tools built their